


Frequencies

by SouthernBird



Category: Rockman X | Mega Man X, Rockman | Mega Man - All Media Types
Genre: AU?, Cause Iris and Colonel Deserved a Lot Better, Combat, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Internal Monologue, Iris Ships Them, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre X4, Sibling Love, War Speak, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:29:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthernBird/pseuds/SouthernBird
Summary: Then, at her side, as always, is Zero.Colonel stiffens, knuckles curling into a light fist as something apple red coats his throat and lumps there, leaving him speechless, leaving him wanting.
Relationships: Colonel/Zero
Kudos: 11





	Frequencies

**Author's Note:**

> I blame Janitorbot. This is all their fault.

Dusky hours of a day yearning for sleep bleeds burnt tangerines across the walkway that leads him to the lower, colder floors of the newly constructed bastion that towers over the cityscape, but he has no time to pay it any mind. Lights twinkle in and out of the skyscrapers abound like stars reflecting against the clouds and he basks only in the solitude that comes before his company arrives. Lovely is the sight of twilight enfolding the city into her darkened veil, but his mind is elsewhere, far, far way from the glass walkway that connects the barracks and training halls with the offices.

Golden hues ribbon across his back before shadows of a lightless hallway drown them. A tone echoes in greeting and the overhead lights click on at his arrival, thus bidding him deeper and deeper through the corridors to his destination.

Colonel will admit that the walk to his particularly favorite training room gets longer each time his gait glides across the tiles towards it.

Due to curfew, he is fortunate to not have to endure the talks of his soldiers and colleagues alike which would not irritate him on the usual time; today, however, is specially scheduled, precisely cut out of his routines just as he has done times prior. Cordiality aside, to not have to slip on the mask of a warrior, though resilient in its brassy mold, is a blessing.

Yet, he is anxious.

As the door slides open to allow him entrance, the training hall greets him with a silence of consecration. After the last accident under his watch, the recruits have made it quite plain that their guilt and worries of reprimand have instilled with them a tidiness that makes Colonel proud. Even as he inspects the clean walls and packed away equipment, pride radiates in his chest in chromatic shifts of plums and oranges and he knows that this will be more than adequate for his guests.

The time approaches ever closer and the anxiety that has corded around his limbs in the weeks past soon sinks its thorns into his wires— and he knows not what to do. Composure is his asset and to lose it at the very thought of who is coming to his side, just the mere image from memory cards that he treasures like a man who is in—.

Colonel stops himself, breathes in deep to cool the warming processors then rubs the bride of his nose. The thorns are embedded deep, so very deep, and he cannot risk them breaking in though as they threaten to regale his senses and make him a simpering fool whose core shudders just in the mere presence of… well. No matter; time is up.

The hiss of hydraulics draws Colonel over to the doors, and lo and behold, there is Iris, beloved Iris, bounding in with a certain Hunter in tow as scheduled.

While it may would seem trivial to explain to the General should his ever-prominent reviews draw attention to the scheduling blocks, these times classified as ‘external training’ have become a thing to look forward to. Even if it might be once every other week, Colonel strives to remain punctual to stave off the fritz of his nerves and to be a dutiful role model of some sort. For whom, he is entirely unsure, but maybe it is not about being respectful, but because he yearns. 

Still, let him pay respect to his sister as his due right, ever astonished by how her. It will bide the time until he is forced to come into sight of someone that nearly statics his programs into red alerts.

There she is, the resplendent flower of Repliforce herself, ever a bright smile and a calm voice in the torrent of his thoughts. Diplomacy strangely her calling, Iris is a true ambassador, a reaching hand from the military organization to the Maverick Hunters. Not once doubting her, Colonel has watched Iris go from a worrisome bud in her more private moments to unfolding her petals into a young reploid that will pave the road towards a bright future for all of their comrades.

“Here he is!” Colonel hears her voice echo throughout the training hall, a sweet tone that would shake the roots of any cold hearted fiend, “just as always!”

Then, at her side, as always, is Zero.

Colonel stiffens, knuckles curling into a light fist as something apple red coats his throat and lumps there, leaving him speechless, leaving him _wanting._

Yet, for a beast of a reploid with wild mane and claws on broad display, Zero’s eyes can be soft, oh, so soft, as he regards the siblings. The moment he catches those eyes nearly implodes him, and Colonel feels the thorns of his desires cut just slightly deeper.

“I had no doubts,” Zero answers her once they are both fully before Colonel, and save him, the Hunter’s voice is damn ambrosial warm, “your brother has never missed a minute.”

There is something underlying in his tone, something playful as Zero’s gaze cuts from Iris’ summer shine to Colonel’s attempts at colder observation.

The second in command of Repliforce can barely keep a smile from forming.

Iris is jubilee incarnate, her laughter like bells resonating silver through his ears, and it takes a small bitter voice to remind Colonel that he could have been that, could have been the soft and the grit as they could have been one whole unit, not two, and perhaps then more palatable to all rather than the few. 

Chastising himself, his fingers clench into a fist. No, no, he would have this no other way, preferring to have a sister to glorify rather than a reflection not their own in the mirror. How fruitless life would be to know two voices be the same instead of simply knowing that there would be no way he or her could be alone.

“Brother likes it when we visit, I think,” Iris realizes to the dust motes swaying in the white lights, “and I think you like visiting, too, _sir_.”

But, Zero’s laugh is like fire, molten slow that burns and that melts Colonel to his the bare bones of his metal skeleton— it should be a threat, some kind of virus that his systems should attack at the ready as the joints of his knees nearly buckle at the sound. How Zero is comprised of sultry embers that smoke his voice and regale Colonel to his attention, he is unsure, but death by slow consensual incineration cannot be the worst of circumstances.

“I sense a bit of insubordination, dear sister,” the solider croaks out in a voice that nearly causes him to wince at how it is full of pitiful gravel rather than his affirmed authority. Damn it all, he sounds like a small child rather than his towering posture of a warrior when in the presence of a fellow warrior.

Iris pays him no mind, sticking out her tongue playfully. “I promise there is none! Zero knows I would never!”

And the Hunter must know so from his amicable pause of silence. His lips part before he grins with as much pride as Colonel imbues for his sister every moment he is relayed her accomplishments, “I permit one act of insubordination per day. Iris has earned it.”

“See?” Iris laughs, grinning from ear to ear as her hands move to clasp her brother’s out of the sheer enjoyment of their banter, “I earned it so there’s no reprimand!”

“I see. You have done well then,” and he means that, means that from the very pit of whatever emotions that their human creators would have deemed necessary for him and his disciplines. Iris reminds him once more than he is free from frivolity, from recklessness, from adoration.

Everything that comprises him seizes at the last, but he eases back into his cool countenance. There is not one spec of desire to impart his vulnerabilities before his opponent, not before they are to battle.

Speaking of, “are you perhaps ready, Zero? I am a bit restless, so I hope you do not mind my being so forthcoming.”

Zero’s chin tilts up and his eyes turn sharp and greedy for something more physical and more violent. The small upturn of his mouth says it all: the Hunter is just as eager to test their proclivities for combat.

“I think you might regret that.”

It is how it always goes; there is some small talk that Colonel tunes out as he walks down the field to his own starting point while Zero takes his own, Iris taking up her usual spot at the cornerout of the path of harm. Colonel cannot help but regard her small, non-combative frame only to tinge green at the seams of his processors at his bellicose tendencies. Yet, he should hold in his cusp nothing but gratitude for the girl— if not for her, he surely would have never been nurtured to ever be soft.

Even as she is being watched, Iris tugs at her fingers, fidgeting with utmost concern as she glances spring eyes between the two of them. Always so fretful, but it helps somehow, soothing their vents to lower ranks so that they do not truly cut off a limb or two from reckless conflict.

“Oh, please… do be careful, both of you,” Iris gently begs quietly, her hands finally resting closed behind her back, “you two get so… involved. What if one of you gets hurt?”

“I doubt I could hurt Zero _too_ terribly, dear sister.”

The Hunter perks up, pupils dilating before constricting right back as he regards his friend and rival. Like something beastly, Colonel thinks with a tremor as it is though Zero’s cordial opponent is instead prey with a pretty throat to rip out with a fanged grin.

Iris huffs, distracting them both from their shared gaze, “I am worried about both of you, brother! Not just one!”

“I’ll keep him in one piece,” comes a promise that sounds more bittersweet than probably intended, Zero flashing her a grin Colonel might envy more than he cares to think.

How insipidly insistent these feelings are, taking away from the joy that would be a brother watching his dear sister find romance with a man more than honorable and worthy though pride may prohibit the admission otherwise. No, the Repliforce leader is besieged from all sides of every motion Zero makes, every word that falls from his pursed lips. He is either brave or stupid to have

Sabers ready, the two warriors shuffle their feet into a ready stance. A pause, a slow of time that allows a calculation to the first move, and Colonel already can predict one thing as he always does: Zero will pounce first.

It takes only the patience of an oak to prove Colonel right as he picks up on ventilators clicking on with a whirring growl of turbines.

Zero is upon him less than a second after.

The first swipe may come from the side, but a side step and a parry hold off any damage. Then, the world all falls into a collision of saber strikes and into a scuffle of boots and knees tracing along the steel floor and Colonel’s systems are vibrant with faux endorphins, a tepid lilac thrumming through his veins.

The thrill of fighting a war bot that captures the attention of all who dare oppose him never ceases to amaze him.

Colonel’s opponents are many, from his own men to other unit leaders, so he is never without a partner to practice with. Zero, however, is something far more graceful, far more dangerous than anyone that has dared to take up shield and sword or buster against the second most powerful reploid of the Repliforce. Zero is teeth sharp, movement precise, and strategy unbound. In ways, he is a monster to contend with, and in others, he is garners a weird ounce of morale. He is as brilliant as a war flag, wind trailing to billow and to fly, and the white reploid is stunted to describe it in its grandeur.

Colonel knows of the generals of old whenever he meets Zero in this calculated but unpredictable dance of battle. The old fogies would smoke their pipes and draw their maps, listless for the sporadic tune of adrenaline singing high and erratic to remind them that they were alive, yet when war came with her wild hair and her belligerent roars, life was far too short and far too long and far too perfect in the wake of her chaos.

While wrapped in the fog of vintage haze of contentious old men and their whims, Zero nearly slices his arm clean off, thus proving that distraction is a murderer hellbent on a guard lost to thoughts unrelenting.

Stupidly, Colonel reacts, but never focuses entirely against for some time which would cause him pause in the question of possible derangement and malfunction. The Hunter is a strange breed in his influences as the other goes between the regalia of war armaments and badges of honor to life’s most chaotic dance, passion.

The barrage he endures is brutal and hellish, and to breathe in and breathe out is as though he bears the brunt of earth’s heavy load with each dodge and strike. To be built for war is a burden that rests solely on his shoulders, idles him steady through the storm of Zero’s attacks, but it starts to feel hopeless sooner than later.

But, with a glint of crimson that floods and drowns in gilded tides, a kindling warms over andinvigorates the adoring courage of a soldier with a heart full of valor. Perhaps there is more to this life as war is not as redundant as supply routes and sheer forces. More so, perhaps there is more to soldiers’ salutations and their morale.

No, what Colonel has learned during this brief and fortunate activation is that war, just the same as affection, is a dance, the same as he has perused from his short time in the company of his humans creators and their comrades. There is an ebb and a flow, a give and a take, one to lead and one to be led, and the core of the struggle is to which partner shall the spoils of victory belong.

Yes, humans have taught him how frivolous war can truly be just by seeing their silly clinging ways, the way their cloying hearts hold close priggish waltzes and whimsical soirees as though the tomes of time may fade and rot if they do not sway and spin in celebratory jubilee. As though it all is in florid tribute to Terpsichore, the payment of man’s homage is steep, but… essential.

The payment is the same as his right then, his mind too preoccupied with whimsical ideas that near poetic as he fumbles and miscalculates— maybe done on purpose, maybe not— one of Zero’s heavier blows and the force is more than enough to push him off his feet to slide to a stop right on his back. His senses recalibrate and a small beep incessantly rings in his ear that he is topside.

He loses again. How meaningful.

He hears a call of his sister from afar, but Zero must hold her there at her post as soon he comes into Colonel’s periphery, leaned over with such a handsomely contorted face of concern that losing is hardly a bruise on his pride, but instead of medal of valor.

Ah, what a sight he must be, still in the throes of his systems working about to correct his position. He is in a state of exposure, weak and open to any onslaught that would threaten to retire him. What should be heaven sent is really just annoying now and keeps him from at least relishing this slightest of creases of Zero’s eyes that are skies so free and so blue that the aches conflagrates.

Sitting up to alleviate the alarms pounding in his head, Colonel cannot help but smile up at the Red Ripper and surrender.

“You always find a way to impress me,” Colonel chuckles as he slips his saber into its holster all while still sitting on the ground as though he has received grand revelation and needed to marvel in the news, “perhaps that is why you have been so highly ranked your entire tenure with the Hunters.”

“I am SA Class because I was built battle ready which makes me incredibly effective, Colonel,” Zero grouses, eyes tight but palm open to offer aid Colonel back to his feet.

It is a bit of a shuffle which is no fault of Zero’s as he is more than strong enough to lift Colonel up over his head, but the soldier’s size causes a slight imbalance that corrects and the larger reploid is up on his feet within a minute. Perhaps they should be heading towards the edge of the simulation arena where Iris stands, having watched to be sure that they are not at each other’s throats if the battle veered towards the more desperate.

She worries too much, Colonel believes with all his half of their heart. He himself is formidable, eager to participate in the most hellish off frays with honor at his back like the flag of his armies, but Zero…

Zero is an enigma that lingers in the recesses of his mental processes even during the days that are tediously strenuous. No matter the paperwork, no matter the meetings, no matter the training sessions and routines.

“… Are you having second thoughts on the time restraint of our training?”

Colonel blinks out of his own self-imposed haze before his eyes follow Zero’s down to their hands, still joined as he has yet to let go of the Hunter. Surely, if he had a heart, the Colonel of Repliforce would feel it jump into his throat to swell too large too quickly and impede on any possible way of reaction for quite some time.

He is thankfully not human without a corpulent heart that would be so traitorous— yet he still keeps Zero’s hand as though it is to be treasured, some precious gem excavated from the bowels of a dismal ancient battlefield. He must yield at some point, Zero’s face shifting from a handsome inquisitive mask to one of mere confusion, but…

The SA Class Hunter is subliminally built. With a swoop of a saber and a faint glimpse of a grin from their first introduction and training session, Colonel has felt as though Zero has sunk his teeth into his neck to poison him, to insure that all the larger reploid could think of was the red terror. Crimson and gold are forever present at the forefront of his mind, overwhelming even his most focused on sensors in some vibrant dance of war and courage.

Does Zero not realize that he is a tempting devil to see in all ways? How has he gone this long without the truth being spoken to him like the words of old when man, so beseeched with their lusts, simpered lascivious poetic homages to their inamoratas or their beaus?

Colonel could do so there instead, could ease down to one knee and rhapsodize the beauty found in this war bot. He could go recite for hours the words that have settled implicitly onto the feeble sentience known to humans as a heart, speak of ways Zero gracefully dances as though he were death itself. It is intimidating, overwhelming even, threatening to overloads those programs that run nothing but simulations nearly twenty-four-seven.

He can only determine one thing; that he _craves_ the Hunter in ways that are natural of a being that has found the poison bud of ardor. With such self-reflection, he cannot be so presumptuously naive to suppose Zero would allow him to keep his head should he ever reveal this.

Yet, he cannot let go, not from this crimson Ares carved in the visage Adonis’ delight, so he lies, just a bit, just to keep Zero closer for a moment more.

“Perhaps I am. The daily routines I suffer through are mostly monotonous until the counsels determine Repliforce is truly ready to stand independent,” Colonel smoothly reports, fighting the urge to caresses the palm of the Hunter’s hand and desperately losing to the pounding of war drums beating in his chest. “I think I am just trying to pass the time as… much as I can.”

Zero, however, is as an enigma as he always ceaselessly is, blue eyes scanning along the larger reploid’s form to find any crack that he could use as some advantage to this exchange. The pregnant pause is concerning, each tick of anxiety notching up higher in Colonel’s servos before there is a hum then even the slightest note of a smirk along lips that damn near begged to be touched.

“Then I will continue to help you pass the time until a directive more sufficient comes along.”

And this gilded beast of a machine claws once more into the soldier’s resolve— once so fortified and true— to unknowingly take his prize of a prey’s adoring respect. It perhaps is closer to reverence, something warns Colonel, this feeling that aches with a plethora of wonderings that could ever settle along the cusp of fantasy.

Would, by chance, Zero, with all his fixtures permeated in war and strategy, ever become so soft to let his hand be held by him on lover’s lofty terms?

No matter; today is not the day for frivolities and mayhap there will be a day when eyes will adore him as he hopes Zero does not suspect from himself right now. Until then, there are only clicks of sabers and steadying of postures before yet another tussle between comrades commences.

“Our time is up, regardless,” Colonel relents and goodbye is insufferable as Zero’s hand leaves him and a cold seizes in his systems in its place and makes the longing so much worse. 

He takes his sister’s hands, tells her something low that only she can hear with fear at his back. Her aural cones pick up the words just fine as she reveals with a smile, but there is a tight crease at her brow as though her gears are whirring.He attempts to think nothing of it as she is a pondering thing, but all he can hope is he has not sown a seed of worry to preside over him.

They share their goodbyes, Iris’ sweet and Zero’s cordial, but Colonel is delusional as he watches the pair leave for he thought Zero might have winked before turning away, golden mane the glorious sight to see as he leaves.

Were Colonel to possess a real palpable heart, it would surely ache as his chest does then, the thorns piercing into the hollows of his core. Roses of red bloom forth throughout him as he longs and loves, and he thinks in the shallow vessel of his mind that death would be a quicker end than this torment that twines him to this handsome, unobtainable beast.

-

Iris realizes something so simply divine one day during a refuel that it nearly makes her slap herself.

As her refuel hours are so precariously different from her usual posse, Iris usually finds her down time filled with what her brother has deemed ‘overthinking.’ With a tiny sip from her drink, she mulls over the circumstances that have placed her there as the incident on Laguz Island seems so far away and yet still feels as though it wreaked havoc just yesterday.

The stress of it still flares in her circuits as that horrendous mission had been her first real test under the cross training experiences that were offered to Repliforce members by the Maverick Hunters. Her reviews of the mission, helmed by Zero himself, had placed her at the top ranks of Navigators stationed here at MHHQ which she does admit she takes some pride in.

Nevertheless, her promotion leaves her with strange on-duty hours, but she can never say she is lonely.

After all, she keeps in contact with her friends and comrades of the Repliforce even though she knows all of them are trudging through the necessary qualms of building a military full of dutiful reploids that will no doubt come to the beck and call of peace. Yet, even then, messaging is a regular occurrence between several fond members and herself though she must admit that the most misses Spiral Pegasus. Not one morning goes by does she arise from recharge to a new message, a salubrious quote of the day that she has learned can usually be applied to life as a Navigator.

Then, of _course,_ there are her friends here on base, and there are so many bright and wonderful characters that bustle about the frantic corridors of MHHQ that there is never a moment her processors are dull and unused. Why, there is there the new hire, Alia, who was recently assigned the 14th Unit after she made nearly perfect marks on her first run just a few weeks after Iris acquired the 0th Special Unit. Then, there is the rookie that was just transferred from the on field units. He might be portly and short, exterior frame not quite built for purposeful combat, but he is eager to serve. Double, she thinks his name is, yes, Double has always given Iris a kind greeting in the Central Command room in spite of the shy grin on his husky face.

Lastly, she chides herself plainly with a swirl of her near empty energy tank, there is Zero, rough around the edges Zero that saw more in her abilities than the most, especially at the behest of her sibling. 

_“How is he doing?”_

_Iris blinks back the sunset that glows soft and warm from the skylights of the MHHQ lobby, her brother standing just inches before her with stiff and awkward shoulders.The question causes her to shift into a near worry, fretting just a bit at how his tone sounds too even. It sounds secretive like he is still in the monthly meeting with the Commander and the other Unit Leader’s to go over the progression of the alliance and Repliforce’s capabilities. “Who, brother?”_

_“Zero. How is he?”_

Iris sits there, sitting back in her seat as she blinks through her memory banks, sifting through each scene of her brother speaking to her in the softest dulcet of tone, his eyes tender yet reserved. Those expressions have always seemed so off place, but only because of her unfamiliarity with them. She has always thought her brother as a cliffside overseeing the tides of a stormy sea, ever stern, ever jagged, and ever resilient.

_“Invite him to visit. It will do some good to spar with a worthy rival as you speak so highly of his skills.”_

_“He may not think of it, but he is strangely impulsive of his own securities. Such recklessness could get him hurt… Watch him close.”_

_“Be kind to him, dear sister. Not all of us… can be.”_

She sees her brother’s face, his strong jaw tensed and his mouth grim while he holds her hands delicately despite his overbearing size. In his usual icy gaze, there is a heartache that numbs her throat and silences her. She worries and she frets, all the words that she could ever say to comfort cotton thick but nothing comes forth even when she hears him speak in melancholic measure.

_“He is a good man. I know he is in good hands with you.”_

_Then, there they are, soldier and hunter on the field of the training hall, hand in hand, still as storm clouds yet promising something more in the rumbling grays as sunshine peers through the gloom of uncertainty._

And it is there amid the chattering buzz in her ears that world abruptly stops and Iris realizes in a heralding symphony of internal silence that her brother knows love.

It is bittersweet; there is an acrid taste in her mouth that can hardly be attributed to the energy reserves that lingers on her tongue as her mind vaults forward too fast for her to keep up. Her lips purse and her fingers tap along the can. For all she had known, she was the one fully capable of such privileges, the only one truly enabled to care for and to love. For her brother, her courageous and true brother, to show affection, could there be danger she is not privy to?

But— how can she be such a worry wart with such news? How exciting this is! And, goodness, why, she could play a matchmaker, guiding the hand of her brother and the hand of one of her best friends together. Iris can see it now, the two quiet warriors finding such kindness between themselves, something akin to comfort being found with their joined hands and consoling silence.

There is so much to do, so much to plan! There are schedules to fuddle with, plans to be conceived, and dates—. Iris gasps, nearly dropping her energy can against the table before catching it in time with a frightened facade of near embarrassment.

Goodness, her brother and Zero on a date, walking together, talking together… it all warms her through and through and underlines in pinks and yellows a goal that she tucks into her chest with a giggle and a grin. She can envision it so clearly as though it were in front of her, Colonel’s eyes that tender way he has apparently learned from falling in love with the Hunter. Everything in the world would be so carefully aligned into perfection that summer would never end with colors so splendid they might glitter.

The Navigator is nearly overheating in delirium as she giggles to herself, rising with a hop in her step to discard her can before slipping out of the canteen to head right back to her post to finish her shift. Just a few hours and then she would be off to devise and conquer in the privacy of free time. She had already been planning on going to the Sky Lagoon for a few errands and shopping afterwards so why not take the time to scope it out, see if there are any areas that can be of use to her? The air city was always so romantic by moonlight, the skyscrapers all shining like stars amongst the umbras of night’s sweeping cloak.

Now, now, Iris notes in a light scold of herself, she is acting like the Colonel, strategizing herself away into a frenzy that she might fear that somehow their minds have switched. Hard to say, but her smile never falls from her face as she walks into the Command Center, life seeming so bright and so wonderful. No more heartaches, no more lovelorn, no more longing— she would be sure of that.

Love, after all, is just pushing buttons to find the same frequency.


End file.
